


Life is a fleeting question mark

by turnitintolove



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dottie isn't who anyone thinks she is, F/F, Peggy learns she doesn't know Angie as well as she thought she did, slight AU history of Angie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitintolove/pseuds/turnitintolove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy has felt the weight of secrets before.  Lying to those you care about in order to protect them, hurried hugs and promises of someday.  But Peggy has never quite felt the weight of someone else’s secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life is a fleeting question mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I read a lot of historical fiction. The title comes from what I can only assume is an unfinished poem by Hannah Szenes (who should have a film made about her and if you don’t know who she was you should google her).
> 
> I’m pretending this takes place after the first two scenes in season 2.
> 
> An enormous thank you to cassiopeiasara for beta-ing and insisting I post this because I wasn't sure I would.
> 
> Today (January 27) is International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

It starts with a simple comment at the end of an interrogation.

“You know, your roommate looks familiar.” Dottie doesn’t sneer or laugh; it isn’t even a threat as she looks at her nails.

“Excuse me?” asks Peggy, face turning from the double sided mirror to glare.

“Angie. It took me a while to put the pieces together,” Dottie stops to shrug, “but then there were just so many of them.” Her voice is full of a sadness Peggy has never heard. “Tell me Agent Peggy Carter, where was your friend in April of 1945?”

Dottie doesn’t laugh or smirk, she looks sad when the door to the room opens and agents come to take her back to her holding cell. Looking back at Peggy like she’s been reading the child’s version of a much darker story.

“Carter!” Thompson shouts from the doorway causing Peggy to jump. “Go home.” He leaves her standing there without another word.

Her journey home is a blur. What does Dottie know? Is she simply trying to get under Peggy’s skin? She must know Angie is one of her only friends. But why the look of pity, why not a laugh or smirk as she toys with her? None of it sits well in the pit of her stomach, like watching Steve step into Howard’s machine.

The penthouse is dark when she arrives apart from the lamp by the door Angie always leaves on for her. There’s a sandwich and a whiskey neat in the kitchen for her; Angie always knows what a long night means. “Where was Angie in 1945?” she asks to the empty kitchen, “Where was Dottie in 1945?”

Peggy finishes her bedtime meal and knocks back the rest of the whiskey before making her way to her large office on the second floor. Tucked inside a drawer with a false bottom is a copy of Dottie’s file; everything they know about her from her training in Russia to her first and now second capture. There are gaps of course; mostly from her childhood, but she does love to brag about her conquests.

“1945, 1945,” she mutters as she flips through pages and pages of notes and reports. “Fighting with the Red Army in Germany.” Her military record is impressive, what’s not been blacked out at least. Peggy sits back in the leather chair and stares at the papers, willing for answers where more and more questions rise to the surface.

“Peg? Peggy? English!”

Peggy jolts awake and rubs her eyes in the early morning light of her office. “Angie?”

“Who else would it be?” she smiles, “Why don’t you go get ready for work and I’ll make you some breakfast.” It isn’t a question really; for someone so small Angie has a way with getting Peggy to do just about anything she wants.

“Yes, that sounds lovely. Thank you.” Peggy stands and stretches, feeling her back pop as she moves. She catches Angie’s eyes lingering on the file in front of her, eyebrows knit together in confusion as the color drains from her face.

Peggy takes a breath to ask her why she looks so concerned, but Angie turns on her heel and throws over her shoulder, “Go get cleaned up, you look like you slept in your office.”

“Because I did.” Peggy throws back, eyeing the pages in front of her with growing concern for Angie’s reaction to them.

When Peggy steps into the kitchen Angie is moving around in a blur. Bouncing from counter to table and back again every few seconds. “Audition today?”

Angie stops and stares at the plate in her hand, “What?”

“You seem nervous, so I assumed you had an audition today.” Peggy says, sitting at the table and cutting into the omelette on her plate.

“Oh, yeah. Yes.” Angie nods, staring at the wall. “I actually need to go or I’ll be late. Have a good day at work Pegs, catch bad guys or whatever you do when you’re not saving the city.” Her words tumble over one another, bumping into the baker’s rack by the door.

Angie is gone in a blur of blue and green, the front door closing behind her and echoing throughout the first floor. “Good luck.” Peggy mutters into the now empty kitchen.

Peggy stops by the front door to put her coat on and sees that Angie’s coat still hangs on its hook. Angie had run out into the cold November air without her coat.

* * *

Dottie greets her with a question as she’s handcuffed to the table, “Did you ask her?”

“Where were _you_ in 1945?” Peggy answers with her own question.

“Oh come on Peggy, I know you have a nice thick file on me. Surely the SSR has gotten their hands on my military file. Or at least the one we let you have.” Dottie shrugs, her face an infuriating mask of indifference.

Peggy watches her and sits in the chair opposite. “You were with the Red Army.”

“Very good Peggy, now _where_ was I?”

Peggy sighs, she can’t help but feel she’s being pulled along for a ride she doesn’t want to be on. “You were in Germany.”

Dottie stares, her eyes hard as she takes in Peggy’s features; the length of her hair, the curve of her jaw, the color in her cheeks. “I think you’ve forgotten what we did during the war, what we helped do. Yes, yes, you and your brave Captain traipsing around looking for Hydra bases while we walked into hell and guided the living out.”

Peggy stands and leans over the table, “What-”

“Carter!” Thompson shouts over the intercom.

“Ask. April 1945.” Dottie tells her again. “You don’t forget eyes like that.”

“Carter!” Thompson shouts again, his voice crackling through the small speaker.

“Why are you telling me this?” Peggy whispers.

Dottie smiles, that beautiful and terrifying smile, “You aren’t the only one with secrets Agent Carter.”

The door to the interrogation room slams open and Thompson steps in, “Carter, get out.” Peggy steps into the hallway without looking at Dottie again. He doesn’t quite look at her, choosing to cross his arms and stare over her shoulder, his irritation palpable. “What the hell are you doing? You’re letting her lead you around like a show dog.”

“I am most certainly -”

“Go home. You know what? You’re off this case. Take a week off.” He points to her desk and watches as Peggy puts on her coat and storms out of the office.

A few early snowflakes have started to fall as she makes her way home. Choosing to walk off her anger in the cold instead of sitting on the crowded subway. So many questions fly through her head; Dottie asking about Angie, Dottie’s involvement with the Red Army, Angie’s behavior this morning.

Angie’s coat is still hanging by the door, though Peggy can hear muted music floating from upstairs. She lets out a long breath and allows herself a moment to relax. “At least she isn’t out in the snow without a coat.” Peggy mutters to herself as she makes her way to her office. Her files are still spread over the table in a maddening display of the unknown.

She of course knows the role the Russians played during the war. She’s read the newspapers, seen the reels, and read the reports. Nightmares written on the page.

“1945 Peggy.” She mocks Dottie’s voice, “Ask her where she was in April 1945 Peggy.”

“Germany.” Angie’s voice startles Peggy from where she stands behind her desk. She clears her throat, “I was in Germany.”

Peggy studies Angie where she stands; her damp hair in waves, face flushed from sitting in a bath, flannel robe held tight around her waist. She looks exhausted. Not like when she used to work a double shift at the automat or when she’s run around the city for back to back auditions. Her exhaustion looks bone deep, like she could sleep for a year and still have those dark circles under her eyes. How has Peggy never noticed them?

Angie turns away and walks down the hall where the door of her bedroom clicks shut. Peggy still stands behind her desk staring at where Angie had stood, shock keeping her rooted in place. She doesn’t see her for the rest of the afternoon. When Peggy knocks on Angie’s door to see if she wants anything to eat she doesn’t get a response and opens the door to see her curled in bed, her body rising and falling with the rhythm of deep sleep. Her instinct burns to add another blanket or check the fireplace but she can’t make herself cross the threshold; it feels too much of an intrusion.

She eats alone in the kitchen, giving herself a headache as she tries to put together pieces of a puzzle with too many missing pieces and no picture to work off of. She repeats Dottie’s hints with Angie’s _“Germany. I was in Germany.”_ Over and over and over again as she pins her hair and removes her makeup. Peggy stares at her own reflection, her frustration staring back with no answers. The worry for Angie gnaws at her enough to carry her outside of Angie’s door.

Peggy raises her hand to knock but pauses when she hears what can only be Angie retching from her bathroom. She opens the door and sees that the only light in the room comes from the open bathroom door.

“Angie?” Peggy asks quietly.

More retching is the only responding sound.

Peggy finds her kneeling in front of the toilet, hand shaking as it reaches to flush away what little she had thrown up. She gasps for air and sits back against the wall.

“You’re fine Angie, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.” She whispers to herself, she hasn’t noticed Peggy standing in the shadow of the doorway.

“Angie?” Peggy’s quiet voice startles her and she slams her head back into the wall.

“Aw shit!” She cradles her head and curls in on herself, the sleeves of her nightgown covering her face. “I’m fine Peggy, go back to bed.” Angie sounds tired and defeated, the usual lilt and bounce to her voice gone.

“Angie, I-”

“Go back to bed, Peggy. Please.” Angie doesn’t beg, but her voice is tired and Peggy reluctantly leaves Angie curled on the floor. She presses her head against the door when she hears Angie let out a muffled sob.

Peggy doesn’t sleep. She takes to quietly wandering the apartment, never too far from Angie’s closed door. Just after 4:30 Peggy hears Angie scream in her sleep, she opens the door to find Angie curling tighter and tighter into herself as she mumbles and cries in her sleep. Her body shivering violently despite the warmth of the room.

“Angie.” Peggy tries to wake her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Angie, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” She rolls away from Peggy’s hand, still mumbling and crying. “Angie, please.” Peggy tries again a little louder.

She jerks awake and claws herself to the other side of the bed and stands, panting, arms held firmly at her sides. Fists clenched, eyes glazed over and staring at Peggy with a fear she’s never seen. To Peggy it looks like she’s trying to stand at attention.

Peggy stands in the aisle of light from the open doorway just as startled. “Angie?” She takes a step to move around the bed but stops when Angie flinches, arms still at her sides. “Angie, I’m not going to hurt you.” Angie gasps again, clarity focusing in her eyes as she blinks and searches the room.

“Peggy?” Angie’s voice is small and distant.

“I’m right here, darling.” Now Peggy slowly makes her way around the bed to stand in front of Angie who still shakes slightly. “Angie?” Peggy gently covers one of Angie’s clenched fists until her hand then arm then body begins to relax.

Angie lets out a sob and sways on her feet until Peggy folds her into a gentle embrace. She grips the sides of Peggy’s robe and cries into the crook of her neck. They stand in the dark of Angie’s room until she exhausts herself, Peggy holding her up and guiding her to lay back down.

“No, no, no.” Angie mumbles, weakly trying to grip at Peggy’s arms.

“Shh, I’m right here, I’m right here.” Peggy foregoes closing the door and climbs into Angie’s bed. Angie rolls into Peggy’s side, holding tight like she’s afraid Peggy will disappear. She doesn’t wake again until late morning though she never lets go of Peggy.

When she does wake, Angie quietly pulls away from Peggy and steps into the adjoining bathroom and locks the door. Instead of waiting for her, Peggy gives Angie time to compose herself, put on the armor Peggy has failed to see. She makes her way down to her own room, pulling on clean clothes and taking the pins out of her hair.

The tea that sits on the table in front of her has grown cold by the time Angie steps through the open doorway to the kitchen. Instead of her usual bustling around she sits in the chair opposite Peggy and stares at the table.

Peggy has felt the weight of secrets before. Lying to those you care about in order to protect them, hurried hugs and promises of someday. But Peggy has never quite felt the weight of someone else’s secrets. Whatever it is, whatever Angie is hiding hangs heavy between them. Peggy won’t press, giving Angie the same courtesy that was extended to her not too long ago. She will wait until Angie is ready.

“I was 22 when Pearl Harbor was attacked.” Angie says, breaking the silence that has settled around them. “Signed up with the Red Cross the next day. They taught me how to patch guys up so they would be okay until a real doctor saw them. Ma cried when I got orders that I was being sent to Europe, my brothers had already fought in North Africa and were being moved around so much we didn’t know where they were.”

Peggy watches the way Angie picks at the cuticle near her thumb with her nails. Scratching at the skin until it starts to bleed.

“The trip across the Atlantic wasn’t so bad, but the short trip across to France was awful. I was green until we waded through the surf only to see all the bodies of the poor guys who couldn’t make it up the beach. I was only there for a few days, they needed more nurses closer to the front, so me and a bunch of other girls were loaded into trucks with whatever supplies they could spare and shipped to the front.”

Angie still picks at her thumb, blood covering her forefinger as she continues to scrape. Peggy takes the opportunity during her pause to stand and wet a towel, she’s gentle when she sits next to her and takes her hand. She holds Angie’s hand through the cloth, feeling the way Angie’s hand has gone slack. Peggy cups Angie’s cheek with her other hand, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything Angie.”

Angie nods and closes her eyes at the feeling of Peggy’s palm against her, “Can we just sit here for a little while?”

“Of course.”

* * *

They move after a while, from the kitchen to their favorite sitting room. A small fire is in the hearth and fresh cups of tea.

“Who told you to ask?” Angie hasn’t spoken for at least an hour, answering any of Peggy’s simple questions with a nod or a shake of her head.

Peggy looks up from the novel she’s been pretending to read, “What?”

“Who told you to ask where I was in 1945?” This time she looks at Peggy when she speaks to her.

She will not lie, “Dottie.”

Angie’s eyebrows knit together, “Dottie the Russian spy who tried to kill you?” Peggy nods. “The same Russian spy who lived next door at The Griffith and stole your lipstick and kissed you?”

“I thought we agreed to not bring that up ever again.” Peggy smiles, “But yes, the same Dottie.”

“Why?”

“I honestly don’t know. To get me thrown off her case I assume. She knew how I’d react.” Peggy shrugs, putting the novel down on the side table.

“How did you react?” Angie questions, looking at the gauze Peggy had wrapped around her thumb.

“I stopped asking questions about why we had arrested her and was thrown out of the office.” Peggy takes a breath and studies the color of Angie’s eyes, how striking it is, a distinctive blue if there ever was one. How could anyone forget the color of Angie’s eyes? Peggy realizes suddenly that were Angie to go missing, her description would start with Angie’s eyes. “She said she recognized you.”

“Oh.” Angie nods a few times and closes her eyes then presses her palms against them. “Oh.” she says again. “Oh god.”

“Angie?” Peggy moves to kneel in front of her, resting her hands on Angie’s knees.

“All I’ve wanted to do is forget.” she cries as she begins to shake and curl into herself.

Peggy sits next to her on the small sofa and pulls Angie into her lap, holding her close. “Shh, I’ve got you.” Peggy soothes, waiting for Angie to calm. More and more questions flood her mind, but she will not push. Not when it causes Angie so much anguish.

Angie has cried herself to sleep in Peggy’s arms by the light of the dying fire. She wakes some time later with a violent shiver and a deep gasp. Peggy’s arms are still around her holding her close, it takes her a moment to reacquaint herself with her surroundings. Peggy brushes some hair out of Angie’s face and asks quietly, “How about something to eat?”

Angie nods and quietly follows Peggy back into the kitchen where she sits at the table and stares at nothing. It takes Peggy some time to find the leftover stew Angie had made and heat it on the stove. They eat in silence until Angie pushes her half empty bowl away and says quietly, “She must have been at Ravensbrück.”

Peggy’s mouth hangs open and she puts her spoon down and pushes her bowl aside. “The women’s camp?” Angie nods, this time not meeting Peggy’s eyes. Peggy’s brain starts working a mile a minute; Angie has never told her about her life _during_ the war, she’s afraid of large dogs, she keeps her room almost unbearably warm during the winter, the way she stood from her nightmare and then clung to Peggy as she slept.

“I was only there four months,” she shrugs, “I was at the other one longer.”

Peggy stares with wide eyes, “Other one?”

“In Poland.” Her voice is quieter this time.

“How, Angie how did you end up there?” She wants to let Angie lead this terrible conversation, but she cannot help the question.

“Stupid really.” Angie tries to smile but she can’t quite follow through.

Peggy follows Angie’s right hand as it comes to grip over the sleeve of her left forearm, nails scratching over the navy wool. She stares at her own arm, the color draining from her face a moment before Angie runs out of the kitchen to the nearest bathroom. Peggy follows quickly, holding her hair back as Angie vomits the little dinner she had eaten. When she leans back into Peggy’s embrace, Peggy takes the moment to grab the nearest hand towel to gently wipe at her face.

She wants to ask about the Red Cross and Poland and Ravensbrück, but instead she asks, “Would you like me to draw you a bath?” When Angie nods she presses a kiss to the side of her head.

Peggy leaves Angie with the hot water flowing into the tub to take her own shower. She lets the water soothe the tension of the day and clear her head. Though every time she allows her mind to clear, images of Angie mix with the images she’s seen in photographs. It’s unsettling.

Angie is still in her bath when Peggy steps out of her bedroom so she heads back to the kitchen. “Tea.” She mutters to the empty hall. “I’ll make us tea.” She needs to do something, anything to keep herself occupied. She returns to Angie’s room with mugs of peppermint tea, to help soothe Angie’s stomach. Peggy can hear her moving in the bathroom and see her shadow moving under the door.

The door opens as Peggy lights a match for the fireplace in the room. Angie is wrapped only in a towel and is startled to find Peggy kneeling in front of the fireplace. She notices the numbers for the first time. Six small numbers that Angie has been hiding from the world for almost three years. What pains Peggy more is how red the skin around them is, like she’s tried to scrub them off, which Peggy realizes _she has._ Angie covers them quickly with her other hand and grabs her nightclothes from the foot of her bed.

Angie comes out again looking even smaller than she had before. “I made you some tea, peppermint.” Peggy says quietly, handing the mug to Angie and forcing herself to not look at her now covered arm.

“Thank you,” Angie takes the mug and sips as she sits on the bench at the foot of her bed.

Peggy watches Angie stare into the fire as it licks at the logs. “I meant what I said Angie, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything, you’re entitled to your secrets.”

“It really was stupid, well, stupid on my part.” She picks up from where she had left off during dinner, seeming to ignore Peggy. “We had a day off, a whole day off. You know how rare those were.” She takes another sip of her tea and waits for Peggy to nod. “I borrowed a bicycle from one of the guards and rode around the small village. There wasn’t much around really, but it was pretty. I stopped to eat at this small cafe. A few pieces of cheese and that awful fake coffee. The girl who worked there was pretty and she spoke a little English, said she’d show me around when she was finished in an hour.”

She stops talking for a while, still watching the burning logs in front of her. She takes a deep breath before starting again.

“This part, I would understand if you wanted me to leave after.”

Peggy shakes her head, “There is nothing you could say that would make me want you to leave. Nothing.” She kneels in front of her and takes Angie’s face in her hands, “You are my best friend Angie, I love you and there is nothing you can say to make me not want you around.”

Angie doesn’t look away from Peggy as she gently holds her face, “That afternoon we rode our bikes to the next village. I didn’t really know where we were but she said she’d take me back and I believed her. So stupid.” Peggy brushes away her tears, still not moving from where she kneels. “We were sitting by this little pond behind this big building talking about dumb things really, life before the war. I don’t know how long we’d been sitting there when she leaned in and kissed me. It had been so long and she was so pretty and I thought we were safe.” Angie stops again and waits for Peggy to do something, anything. Her free hand grips at the edge of the bench, nails scraping at the plush fabric, knuckles white.

“What do you mean you thought you were safe?”

“I didn’t think we were that far from the US camp, a few miles maybe. Only I didn’t stop to think that a few miles made all the difference. So stupid. It turns out she was a, a uh, collaborator.”

“Oh Angie,” Peggy coos, she understand now. Or she thinks she does.

“That big building we were behind was where the SS had taken up, they’d taken down the big flags a few days before when they knew we were getting closer. She would pick people out to turn in and they’d pay her for every person she brought in, been doing it since they showed up. Turned out that bringing in a queer American nurse with the US military was big deal.” She shrugs one shoulder and tries to look away from Peggy.

“There is nothing you could say that would make me want you to leave, I mean it.”

Angie nods and pulls one of Peggy’s hands into her lap, “They kept me there for two days while they interrogated me, but I didn’t know anything.” Peggy knows, she knows what being interrogated by the SS means. She'd read enough reports to understand the tone of her voice. “The night of the second day I was dragged out of my cell and taken to a train station where they shoved me into a boxcar full of other women. It was the end of July, so it was hot and there wasn’t any water. Every time the train stopped they would drag the dead bodies out and shove new women in. I don’t know how many days it took to get to Poland, but I thought I was going to die in that boxcar, didn’t think it could get much worse.”

Her face crumples as she tries to pull away from Peggy to cry. Peggy sits next to her on the bench and pulls her close. “How does getting some sleep sound?” Angie nods into her shoulder and allows Peggy to guide her into bed, the whimper Angie lets out when Peggy steps away from the bed is heartbreaking. “Only putting another log on the fire and turning out the lights, darling.” When she climbs into bed beside Angie, Peggy holds her just as tightly as Angie clings to her.

Angie doesn’t wake or move as she sleeps, but she clings to Peggy throughout the night. She wonders now who Angie used to cling to out of fear or to keep warm. Peggy never saw the camps or their survivors, not in person at least. She was tucked away in the SSR; trying to drown out static and move on with her life. Peggy never would have guessed that someone she had grown so close to could be hiding something so dark. She holds Angie a little tighter.

When Angie does wake she quietly untangles herself from Peggy and leaves the room. Peggy sits up and allows the weight of Angie’s words to sink in. How has Angie hidden the numbers this whole time? Does she wake often from nightmares; is that why she chose a bedroom down the hall from Peggy’s? How has Peggy failed to notice?

She finds Angie staring at the snow out the kitchen window, a fresh cup of coffee on the counter next to her. Peggy watches as her eyes stare out into the grey clouds, left sleeve pushed up and nails scratching at the numbers. There’s already small drops of blood rising to the surface, her nails stained. Peggy moves quietly as not to startle her as she picks up the roll of gauze from yesterday and a fresh towel. She’s gentle when she covers Angie’s hand with her own and cleans the blood from her arm and nails then carefully wraps her arm, covering the numbers.

Angie gasps but doesn’t pull away. She lets Peggy take care of her and closes her eyes when she kisses the side of her head, hand cradling her cheek. Peggy makes them breakfast and makes sure Angie eats at least a little of the food she’s laid out.

“It took me months to not eat like someone was going to steal what was in front of me.” She offers quietly, pulling the corner of her toast off before eating it. “Or out of my hands. You’d be amazed at what people will do when their humanity has been taken away.”

Peggy looks up from where she’s been studying the steam rising from her coffee, “Angie you don’t -”

“I know. I don’t have to tell you anything and I know I don’t owe it to you. But you know most of it now.” She shrugs and Peggy takes it to mean that she’ll be hearing the rest of Angie’s horrible secret. They eat the rest of their breakfast in silence and move back to the sitting room where they share a blanket on the large sofa.

Angie has been pressed against Peggy for a while, listening to steady rhythm of her heartbeat and breathing. “It took me a while to learn where I was. I didn’t speak any of the languages the other prisoners were speaking, Polish and German mostly. But I learned what a few words meant pretty quick.

“They thought I was dumb because I didn’t say anything but they could see that I was a political prisoner and a queer. The patches could tell them that but not that I was American, one of the women in my block figured it out. They all kept talking to me in different languages to try and talk to me, she finally asked _‘English?’_ and I nodded. She taught me how to count to 50 in German and what words I needed to know to make it through the day. She saved my life in a few ways. They all did.” Angie’s eyes are soft in the way only someone who’s lost so many can be.

Peggy runs her hand through Angie’s hair and holds her close.

“The days just blurred into each other. I only knew that the world was still spinning because the trees started to change color and the rain turned to snow. We learned how to hold each other up during roll call when we were too weak or sick to keep our eyes open. I learned to mourn while I kept going, no one could stop to look for someone everyone knew was gone.”

Angie spares her the day to day details; she knows really from the trials and other witness accounts what happened. She has no trouble picturing Angie in blue and white stripes, hair gone, shuffling behind so many women who look the same; pale, gaunt, starved. Dehumanized.

“They moved some of us out of the camp in what I was told late January, just before the Russians showed up to liberate the camp. Ravensbrück wasn’t really big enough for that many new prisoners so we were put in this big tent; no food, no water. I’d watch from the side of the tent when they’d load people in trucks and then come back empty twenty minutes later. Only one thing was that close.

“I think it was a few weeks later I got moved into one of the blocks. I could still work so I was tossed into another overcrowded bunk with women who didn’t want to see someone new sleeping where their friend had been the night before.”

Peggy holds her closer, feeling the warmth that radiates from Angie. The deep breaths she takes as she presses her ear harder over Peggy’s breastbone.

“By the time spring came, I had done all of the jobs there were to do there, taken from one block and put in another week after week. One day I was sure I’d be on the next truckload; couldn’t stop coughing and I was shaking with a fever so hard the women next to me had to help hold me up during roll call. That was the day they made us march out of the camp. I still don’t know how I survived until the Russians found us, but I did. Falling into the arms of some faceless soldier who carried me to a medic.”

“Dottie.” Peggy guesses.

She feels Angie shrug against her, “Maybe. I was so sick with typhus I could barely remember my own name. I couldn’t have weighed more than 60 or 70 pounds when they got me to the Red Cross in Paris. Whoever it was that took care of me ripped off the triangle before they handed me over to the Red Cross.”

“What about your family?” Peggy asks, thinking of Angie’s parents who talk to her every Sunday, not knowing where she is or if she’s alive.

“They thought I was dead. They’d gotten a letter that I had gone missing and was assumed dead. Both of my brothers came back at the end of May but they didn’t get a letter about me being alive until the end of June, when I was considered healthy enough to put on a boat back to New York. Slept most of the trip home, eating still made me sick most of the time and I stayed with another nurse who looked after me.

“Ma didn’t recognize me when I got off the ship. My hair was so short and I still didn’t weigh much, couldn’t stop shaking either. Took me weeks to keep food down and sleep through the night without waking up at 4:30 for a roll call that didn’t exist anymore. Ma helped me cover up the numbers with makeup so people would stop staring.”

Angie sits up and sees the tears that have quietly dampened Peggy’s cheeks and she brushes them away. “I want to talk to her.”

“Who?” Peggy asks, though she thinks she knows.

“Dottie.” She clears her throat, “I want to talk to her.” Her voice is insistent.

Peggy sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, “I don’t know if I can-”

“Please, Peggy.”

“Okay.” Peggy kisses the side of her head again, lingering a little longer before standing and heading to her office.

Rose tells her who will be in the office covering the late night shift and says that it shouldn’t be a problem to make an off the book visit. But she does tell Peggy her favorite brand of gin before disconnecting the call.

Angie’s hands shake the whole way there and she can’t quite bring herself to smile at Rose when Peggy sets the bottle on her desk. She’s quiet as Peggy leads her to the interrogation room and sits opposite the empty seat. Her eyes staring at the handcuffs on the table.

“I’ll be right back, darling.” Angie nods, still staring at the table.

She finds Dottie sitting up on the metal bed humming a song to herself. “Agent Carter, to what do I owe this little surprise?”

“I have someone who wants to speak to you.” She unlocks the sliding door and holds out the open handcuffs for Dottie to present her wrists.

“It isn’t Jack and his carrot is it?” Dottie snorts, allowing Peggy to lead her down the hall.

It’s the first time she’s ever seen genuine surprise in Dottie’s face, seeing Angie as they turn the corner. Angie’s thumb is rubbing the fabric over the numbers as she watches Dottie sit across from her.

Peggy removes the handcuffs and reaches for the set attached to the table. “Please don’t.” Angie tells her, “I’m not afraid of her.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Peggy asks, standing by the closed door.

“No,” she shakes her head. “You can stay English.”

Dottie lets Angie watch her, take in her darker hair, the way she sits and doesn’t look away.

Angie breaks the brief silence, “Why didn’t you say anything? Before, I mean.”

“I’m not in the habit of telling other people’s secrets.”

Angie gives her an empty laugh, “But you’re more than happy to throw some bread crumbs.”

Dottie shrugs, “I never said I was good. And I didn’t tell her anything, did I? You did.”

Angie sighs and closes her eyes, “Peggy said you recognized me.”

“I took care of you.” She watches Angie as she speaks, “When we intercepted your death march I was sent to the middle of the block where the women you were with were holding you up and trying to get the attention of any soldier. I handed my canteen to them and they passed you to me. You reached up to touch my hair and sobbed right before you collapsed,” Dottie reaches up and runs her fingers through her own hair, letting the ends run through her fingers. “I carried you to a truck and wrapped you in whatever I could find until we could get you to a real medic. You didn’t weigh much, like carrying a sack of flour.

“You couldn’t stop coughing and I was lucky to have been inoculated a few months before. No one else wanted to come near you. I was also one of a few who spoke English. You kept saying you were American in German and Polish but it took hours of asking for you to say your name, Angela, you could barely open your eyes and then you wouldn’t stop saying your name. Over and over and over again. I realized no one had called you by your name in probably months.”

“You took off my triangle.” Dottie nods, eyes still not leaving Angie’s face. “Why?”

“I’m not in the habit of telling other people’s secrets.” She says again and shrugs, “Or I wasn’t at the time.”

Peggy watches Angie nod a few times, allowing Dottie’s words to sink in. To fill gaps in her memory.

“How did you know it was me? At The Griffith? I don’t, I look-”

“Healthy?” Angie nods slowly, “Your eyes. You would stare out at nothing for hours and I was watching you the entire time to Paris. There are some things you cannot forget, I’m sure you know that.”

They sit in silence until Angie stands and walks to stand in front of Dottie. Peggy watches with her muscles taut, ready to spring into a fight.

“Could you stand up? Please.” Angie asks her and Dottie’s eyes shift to where Peggy has moved away from the wall. She stands slowly, hands held in front of her to show that she means no harm. They’re both startled when Angie wraps her arms around Dottie and holds her tight. “It’s called a hug, Russia.” Dottie rolls her eyes but carefully wraps her arms around Angie and pulls her close. “Thank you.”

“I well-” Dottie stutters, and Peggy is surprised to see her careful mask crack.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to hear it, you saved my life.” Angie pulls out of the hug and cups Dottie’s face with gentle hands, “I don’t think you’re a bad person Dottie, but I do think you work for the wrong people.”

“I’m glad you found your way home Angela.” Dottie steps away and holds her hands out for Peggy to handcuff her and lead her back to her cell.

“Let me know when you find yours.” Angie says as they turn the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ravensbrück was a mostly female concentration camp in Germany. In January of 1945 many Auschwitz prisoners were “evacuated” to Ravensbrück before the Red Army (Russia) liberated it on January 27th, 1945. In late April prisoners from Ravensbrück were sent on a death march of ~20,000 prisoners to get rid of evidence of the camp and survivors. The Red Army intercepted the death march at the end of April before liberating Ravensbrück on April 29th/30th, 1945.
> 
> Collaborators or Collaborateurs were mostly in occupied France, though they were in most of the occupied countries in Europe. Women who were found to be Collaborators after the war were tried and usually had their heads shaved. These men and women worked with the Nazi Regime to turn in friends, neighbors, colleagues who were thought to be anti-fascist, fighting in the resistance, or any reason they may not like you. 
> 
> A very small amount of Americans were put into concentration camps. Mostly POWs who were moved from a POW camp after being asked if they were Jewish or told they “looked Jewish”.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm tumblr: jellysnack.tumblr.com


	2. Butterflies don’t live in here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback of sorts.
> 
> Title comes from the poem "The Butterfly" by Pavel Friedman

It's Alice that finds out first.

They've been changing rotations so often she isn't sure where she's supposed to be today. Lately it's been children who have been displaced. Today it's women brought in from a convoy by the Russians.

“They arrived two weeks ago,” the French nurse explains in accented English, “and there was an American with them.”

“Was?” Alice asks, hoping she won’t be readying another body to be sent home.

The nurse shakes her head, “She is alive. We were hoping she might speak to another American.”

“She won’t talk to you?”

“I do not think she can. She repeats the same three things; _ich bin Amerikaner, jestem Amerykanką,_ Angela.”

“Angela?” she asks.

“Yes. We do not know if it is her name or the name of another.”

Alice nods, still following the nurse down the crowded hallway. The patient has been put in a rare room alone and she takes up very little space on the already small bed. She’s skeletal and covered in scabs and scars, her body shakes despite the radiator in the corner and the blankets piled on top of her. And yet there’s something hauntingly familiar about her.

The nurse lets Alice take in the woman on the bed, “Her fever still hasn’t broken and she sometimes tries to get out of bed. Two days ago we found her in the courtyard trying to move loose bricks.”

Alice nods and wets a cloth to lay on her fevered forehead. The woman mumbles and her eyes slowly blink open. Alice gasps, “Angie?”

“You know her?” the other nurse asks, surprised.

“Yes, oh my god. She was a nurse with us, disappeared in the north of France last year. We- we thought she was dead.” Alice is gentle as she moves the cool cloth over Angie’s face, soothing her with soft sounds. “Christ, Angie. How did you end up here?” she whispers and tries to hold back her tears.

The nurse clears her throat and steps closer, “What is her name?”

“Martinelli. Angie Martinelli.”

“I’ll go let them know.”

“Thank you,” Alice says as she runs her fingers over Angie’s heated skin. She can feel how thin she is when she shifts on the bed.

“Ich bin Amerikaner. Ich bin Amerikaner.” Angie mumbles, trying to pull away from Alice’s touch.

“I know sweetie, I know.” Alice stands and wets the cloth again with cool water. When she rests it over Angie’s forehead, she struggles to open her eyes again and pull away. “Shh, Angie. It’s okay. You’re safe with me. You’re safe, I’m going to take care of you and get you home.”

She weakly struggles against Alice, rolling to her side and vomiting the broth she had been fed hours before. Angie continues to shake as Alice guides her to lie on her back and pulls the blankets up. “Shhh, I’m here Angie. I’m going to help you get home.”

“Jestem Amerykaninem.” Angie whispers, falling back into her fitful slumber as Alice presses the cool cloth against her skin.

She sits on the edge of the bed while Angie sleeps, “Oh Angie, what happened?”

In the hours that follow two other nurses from their unit hear about Angie and find their way to her bedside. They take turns watching over her for the next several days. Making sure she gets her medication, she has clean linens, being so soft and gentle as they give her a sponge bath and trying not to cry at the state of her body, feeding her spoonfuls of broth and water.

In the time they watch over her, Angie tries to stand at attention three times and goes to pick up stones that don’t exist twice. Each time they guide her back into bed and cover her with blankets that never seem to stop her shaking.

Eight days after Alice finds Angie, her fever breaks.

Angie’s delirious mumbles are traded for nightmares and a look of constant fear. Alice, Helen, and Ruth take turns sharing her bed, letting Angie cling to them throughout the night. She doesn’t say much, answering only simple questions with a shake or nod of her head. They hold her when she cries and stop her from trying to scratch off the numbers on her arm. Ruth holds her in wrapped blankets while Helen slowly feeds her, Alice bringing reports on Angie’s progress to their superior.

“How is Martinelli doing?” The head of their medical unit asks Alice after she steps into his makeshift office.

“Her fever’s broken and she keeps down about half of what we feed her.” she nods, sitting on the only chair free of papers.

He nods and reaches for a file, “I’ll be writing her family today to let them know. I’d like to send her back to New York as soon as she can travel.”

Alice studies the doctor for a moment, “Sir, you haven’t told them yet?”

“I wanted to wait,” he sighs, “until her health made a turn for the better.”

“I see.”

“Didn’t want to send them false hope only to write them again. I want you to go with her.”

“Sir?”

“When we send her home, someone has to look after her on the ship. I want you to go with her. Plenty of work to be done back home.”

Alice nods, “Yes sir.” She stands to leave and stops only when the doctor stands.

“How is she? Really?”

She stops to think, “Wherever she was, whatever they did to her, they broke her. She’s just a shell who can’t stop shaking.” Alice clenches her fists, “I hate them.”

“We all do.”

When Alice returns to Angie’s room she finds it in chaos. The table is on its side, the bowl of broth lies in pieces and a spreading pool. Both Ruth and Helen stand a few feet from the corner of the room where Angie is crouched and covering her head with her arms. She mumbles and cries an incoherent mix of German, Polish, and English.

“Angie it’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.” Ruth whispers as she edges closer to her until she’s able to wrap her arms around Angie and hold her. “I’ve got you sweetie, I’ve got you.”

“What happened?” Alice asks Helen as they both watch.

“Nightmare. She got out of bed and grabbed a piece of bread from the table and started crying, when we tried to get her back in bed she started yelling and tried to hide the bread from us.” Helen looks away from Angie and Ruth to face Alice, “She thought we were going to beat her for stealing the bread.”

“I hate them.” Alice says, watching Ruth rock Angie back and forth. The bread clenched in her fist.

“Me too.”

* * *

By the time they board the ship for New York, Angie is still drinking mostly broth and has only gained a little weight back. Alice spends most of her time in their small room with Angie; keeping her warm, holding her through nightmares, keeping the other passengers from staring at her.

When they arrive in New York Angie’s mother’s eyes pass over them twice before recognition and then horror overcome her. Angie shakes where she stands, not able to meet her mother’s eyes when she runs to her and pulls her close despite her flinching.

“My baby,” she whispers into her short hair, “you’re home.” Angie grips the sides of her mother’s dress and buries her face in her shoulder. “Let’s get you home baby.”

Alice smiles sadly at Mrs. Martinelli and nods when she thanks her, unable to let go of her daughter to hug or even shake her hand. “She has nightmares and still has trouble eating, I made a list, a journal of sorts on how we’ve been taking care of her.” She tucks the bound papers into the bag the hangs at Angie’s side.

“Thank you. Thank you for bringing her home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tumblr: jellysnack.tumblr.com


End file.
